


Middling Years

by neveroffanon



Series: together we fall [2]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:02:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24775051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neveroffanon/pseuds/neveroffanon
Summary: Malcolm comes home early from his first semester at Harvard.
Relationships: Ainsley Whitly & Jessica Whitly, Malcolm Bright & Ainsley Whitly
Series: together we fall [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1755088
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	Middling Years

“You want me to do what again?” 

“It’s not a big deal, right? You can come?” Ainsley hesitates in Malcolm’s doorway. He’d just started unpacking a few things, but she’d had it weighing on her almost since he’d left for school. It wasn’t even a big part, but it was still a part, something she’d worked for almost the whole year. Her side twinges uncomfortably.

“I don’t know Ains. I haven’t been to a recital in ages, and I brought home a ton of work to do for finals,” Malcolm replies, his back to her, still sorting through clothes. “And I don’t think it would do you any good if your friends saw me with you.”

“Oh my god, you are such a drama queen. Wasn’t it why you changed your name in the first place? So people wouldn’t associate you with Dad?” She stumbles a little over the word, Malcolm’s eyes flashing up to meet hers before flickering away. 

“Yeah, and if I show up to your recital then all the attention is on me. Not you. Which is kind of missing the point of a recital, yeah?” he asks, finally shoving aside his bags to settle onto the bed. “You’ve been trying to get the conductor to hear you try out for a solo for a whole year, you don’t need me there to ruin it for you.” He tilts a smile at her, and Ainsley nods, reluctant. 

He wasn’t all wrong. It rubbed her raw that as much things had changed, the more they stayed exactly the same. Mother still woke her up in the morning with forehead kisses laced with bourbon. The kids at school… the kids at school were the kids at school. She shifted back from the door, one hand tucking itself into her side and pressing on one of the bruises there. “If you change your mind—.”

Malcolm presses his lips together again, the edges curved oddly. It was probably supposed to be a smile. All it did was stretch his cheeks so he looked like a sad clown. “I won’t,” he replied. “But I’ll be here with that apple cider you like, and goldfish.” 

“Alright,” Ainsley brings herself to reply, and turns away. After a moment, she picks up her feet, almost jogging down the hall, ends up hurtling down the stairs and skids to a stop just before running into Louisa and Lucrezia lugging another of Malcolm’s suitcases to the landing. She dances around them, twisting through the mess on the floor, until she gets to the foyer. 

“And there you are. What have you done to your hair?” Her mother’s voice goes from pleased to alarmed in the space of a second, hands already raised to fix the flyaways. Ainsley leans back, but her mother is quick. One tug of her hand, and Ainsley has been turned about and her hair, which admittedly had come undone, is being twisted back. Behind her, she can hear her mother muttering.

“I swear; I am glad I told your grandmother to meet us there. If she saw you coming down the stairs like a little… Well, let’s just say I’m the one who’d be in trouble.”

“Mom, come on. The bun only fell a little bit,” Ainsley sighed. 

“You’re making your solo debut. That means looking your best,” her mother paused, fingers tightening in her hair into a twist atop her head. There was the cool slide of pins across her scalp and then her mother stepped around her, pulling a few strands to lay in front of her ears. “Oh my baby. You look perfect,” her mother smiled brightly and pulled her in for a hug. The bruises on her side twinged, and Ainsley choked down a gasp.

When finally, her mother let go, Ainsley breathed shallow, trying to smile. It seems to work for in the next moment, Louisa is pressing her case into her arms, Lucrezia has her cloak with the hood, the one she’d begged Mother to buy, and finally she’d relented. Tonight was the first time she’d be able to wear it. Ainsley bends her knees a little to help Lucrezia settle the fabric around her shoulders. 

“Let’s go Mom!” Ainsley can feel her heart racing, suddenly excited. Mal wasn’t coming, and Grandmother was, but she had a solo, and no one could take that away from her. 

“Yes, yes. We are going, my dear,” her mother presses her ahead toward the door, still fiddling with the buttons on her own coat. “You said goodbye to your brother?” Ainsley hears her ask, but she pretends to ignore it and the twinge that has nothing to do with her stupid bruised ribs. 

* * *

At least in orchestra, no one cared about Malcolm. That was half the reason why she’d joined in the first place. She couldn’t do ballet. All the good teachers remembered having her brother as their student and all they ever wanted to talk about was how graceful he’d been, how talented, and what a shame it was. Then, just like every other time Malcolm was brought up, things would get awkward. 

But Malcolm had never played an instrument in his life. There was no one to compare her to. No one cared about her father, or her mother. All the wanted to know was if she could play. Since she could, they were her friends. Luckily for her, none of them went to Chapin. Unluckily for her, none of them went to Chapin. 

She sighed, planting her feet flat on the floor. They were almost ready to start playing. The crowd was seated; and the conductor, if she tilted her head just right, she could see him hovering right behind the curtain off stage. This was the part she loved best. Just before the lights dimmed, when the crowd was still shuffling in their seats, whispering. Then, as the conductor walked on stage, all the eyes in the room came to rest on them. The conductor and the players. Tonight, they’d be on her. 

The lights dipped twice, and the crowd went dead silent, and a little thrill sang along the tips of her fingers. Ainsley looked out into the seats, eyes wandering until they fell on her mother, smack in the middle, of course. Ainsley shook her head as her mother leaned over to point her out on the stage to Grandmother, an irritated huff shaking the huge earrings. And beside her, Ainsley could just make out another figure, head bowed. 

As the lights dimmed for the third time, he looked up and met Ainsley’s gaze. It was Malcolm. He grinned and waved a little as the lights went out completely. Applause started up and her seat mate, Katie, elbowed her, right on the bruises. Ainsley wheezed, eyes watering, and nearly dropped her bow. She stood with the rest of the players, fighting back tears. Katie leaned over as they sat, trying to ask if she was alright, but Ainsley shook her head, sniffing. She was going to play, do the best solo anyone in the room had ever heard, and then she was going to kick her brother’s ass, bruises and all.

* * *

Ainsley left backstage, arms winched tight around her violin case, shouting goodnights to the rest of the orchestra. She ducked around the other parents, her teacher pulled her in for a hug and a picture, and a whispered admonition to remember to tune a little flat tomorrow night. Ainsley nodded, smiling, and ran. Just at the doors, she saw them. Malcolm leaned against the walls, Mother and Grandmother arm in arm next to him. 

She ran up, pressed the case into her mother’s arms and pulled Malcolm in for a hug. When they pulled apart, he grinned. “Guess you believed me,” he said. 

“I did, although now that I think about it, you did come back home suspiciously early,” Ainsley replies, poking him in the shoulder. 

Malcolm leans over, pulling her case from Mother’s arms and drapes his arm around her shoulders, piloting them both for the doors. “I did, and I got a lot of extra homework to do because of it.”

“Pretty sure you like homework,” Ainsley replies, not caring at all. 

He laughs, brightly, and squeezes her into his side. “Pretty sure we both know that isn’t true.” 

“Yeah. You’re right. I’m the smart one, I forgot,” Ainsley smiles up at him. They pile into the car, and Ainsley nestles into her grandmother’s side and doesn’t interrupt when she starts talking about debutante balls, high tea, and dancing lessons. Malcolm grins conspiratorially at her from the front seat, and that little twinge that’d had nothing to do with stupid fights with stupid girls finally disappears.


End file.
